The Scars On Our Hearts
by laurenaboland
Summary: AU: Kate and Rick lost each other five years ago. Now she's marrying another man. Can a chance encounter change everything? A story about finding yourself, what you'd lost, and what you didn't even realise you were missing.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is more of a prologue than a chapter one, really, but at the same time it operates more as a chapter one. It's very short, but the following chapters are significantly longer.**

**Disclaimer: Never was mine, isn't mine, not likely to ever be mine.**

* * *

Chapter One

_Shadows settle on the place, that you left_

_Our minds are troubled by the emptiness_

_Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time_

_From the perfect start to the finish line._

* * *

Sour milk. Mouldy bread. Three missed calls from Alexis. Sweat and dirt that cling to him after three days without a shower.

And twenty-five fresh chapters of the latest Heat novel ready for emailing to Black Pawn an entire day before the deadline.

Richard Castle sank back in his chair, firmly shutting the lid of his laptop. He grinned at the prospect of getting Gina off his back and – well, showering seemed like a good place to start.

When he was buffed and dressed, the next priority was to get some half-fresh food. Grocery shopping hadn't taken precedence when he was consumed by writing. The smell of Chinese take out and pizza leftovers emanating from his rubbish bin could vouch for that.

He ventured further upstate than he'd usually go for groceries, needing a change of scenery and a break from his apartment-turned-prison. The supermarket had an odd smell, conflicted between cleaning agent and baking bread, but it was easy to navigate and he made his way around quickly.

"Richard Castle?"

He heard his name called from behind him, and tensed. It wasn't an unusual occurrence for someone to recognise him – just last week he'd been almost mobbed by a woman's book club when he made a venture to the NY Public Library – but the voice that called him now was wrong. It wasn't an excited noise to draw his attention. It was questioning, a little cold – and familiar.

Castle turned, his hand already extending.

"Jim." He gave the older man a smile and shook his hand. Jim Beckett smiled back at him – or at least, the corners of his mouth twitched.

"How are you?" Castle asked.

"Oh, good. And you?" Jim asked. He was visibly uncomfortable, making small talk for the sake of being polite.

"Well, can't complain," Castle said. "How's your daughter?"

Jim shifted, the stance he took on being something of a defensive pose. "I'm doing grocery shopping for her, actually. With her being so busy at the moment, I told her I'd help her out."

And damn it if that didn't stir memories for Castle. Kate, pretending to be asleep on a Saturday morning so Rick would go get the groceries without her. Kate, stocking up her fridge with enough cartons of Chinese food she could have opened her own take out.

_Kate breaking his heart. Kate walking out._

Castle wasn't sure if it was a smile or a grimace that threatened to spread across his face at the thought of his ex, but he straightened his expression when he saw the sombre look on the man opposite "Busy with work?" Castle asked, trying to keep his voice placid.

Jim's tone was defensive. Castle realised that he was holding a grudge. But after what went down between Castle and his daughter, well... Castle couldn't blame him. He wondered if Kate's father knew the details of the death of their relationship. Death was being somewhat generous. Massacre might have been closer to reality.

"Well, with work too, I suppose, but she's stressing out," Jim said. "She wants everything to be perfect, and it's only a few weeks away –"  
"What is?" Castle asked.

Jim stared at him, his eyes opened a little wide. "I thought- Did she not tell you?"  
"Tell me what?" Castle asked.

"She told me she sent you an invite," Jim muttered. He sounded more like he was speaking to himself than to Castle.

"An invite to what?" Castle asked.

Jim looked straight at Castle. Jim's eyes were older, wizened by years of grief for his wife and fear for his daughter. His voice, too, was always solemn, and it made his next sentence sound like he was delivering a death sentence.

"Katie's getting married next month."

* * *

**Hate it or love it, I'm dying to know what your thoughts are. Lyrics are from Youth by Daughter. Next chapter will be up within a few days. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_Now and then I think of when we were together_  
_Like when you said you felt so happy you could die_  
_Told myself that you were right for me_  
_But felt so lonely in your company_  
_But that was love and it's an ache I still remember_

* * *

Oh.

_Oh._

Well. Of course she was, Castle told himself. That was what happened when you broke up with someone. They move on. This shouldn't come as a surprise.

So why had it left Rick Castle, writer extraordinaire, lost for words?

It was the only thing that played in his mind as he travelled back to his apartment. Halfway there, he realised he had left his basket of groceries in the store. That was how startled he had been. He'd all but ran away from Jim after that bombshell had been dropped, like a scared little boy. It certainly wasn't his finest hour.

There was a light snow beginning to fall on New York, so Castle didn't go back to retrieve his groceries. He convinced himself he could survive on leftovers and sour milk for another day. It was only him in the apartment anyway. Alexis was away at college – in her final year - and his mother was renting a place on the west coast where she was working on a television show indefinitely.

Ice crystals tangled in his hair, and he brushed them off. It occurred to him that Kate was having a winter wedding.

He'd always pictured her wedding in the Summer. Outside, in a garden, with flowers and ribbons decorating a small area that would be filled with close family and friends. It would be simple – Kate wouldn't want anything too extravagant – yet beautiful nonetheless. But the most beautiful thing would be her. Dark hair loosely waving around her face, caressing her cream skin. A flowing white dress that would cover her shoes. And the shoes could be her something old, because she could just choose one of the many heels in her endless collection. No doubt she'd tease that he was her something old, and he'd say 'Very funny', and they'd both smile, and he'd lean in and kiss her softly and –

_Woah,_ Castle thought. _None of that kind of thinking._

It was inevitable that he still cared about her. Still cared enough to wonder about what might have been. Sometimes at night he'd catch himself looking at his life and a tiny part of him would pinch with sharp claws and say _if only. _But after what had gone down – after they had each wronged the other so terribly – sometimes he'd get drunk and start cursing her name. Sometimes, especially at the beginning, he did it under complete sobriety. He'd even tried multiple times to kill off Nikki Heat, but Gina had put a stop to that. _They're a gold mine,_ she had said. Still, he was more cruel with the character than he had been in earlier books by a long shot. It was childish, but it gave him a feeling of twisted smugness. His heart wasn't in the story anymore, and it hadn't been for a long time. Writing Nikki Heat novels was a tedious task, nothing more.

He did still care about her, if he was being honest with himself. But there was also a large part of him that hated her. Hated her for what she did to him. For what she turned him into. For the scar she'd left on his heart that he didn't think was ever going to heal.

* * *

"Yo, Sorenson," Esposito clicked his fingers in front of Beckett's face. She snapped out of her haze, realising that the buzz of noise vaguely irritating her had been Esposito trying to get her attention.

"Not married yet, Espo," she said, keeping her eyes on her paperwork, her pen flying across the page. "Think you can hold down the fort if I take a long lunch?"

"You got it." Esposito sat on the edge of her desk and picked up her gilt-edged name plate with _Capt. Beckett _in gold lettering. "You gonna get a new one of these?" he asked, waving it in the air.

Beckett snatched the name plate from his hand and rearranged it carefully on her desk. "I've told you before, I'm not taking his name."

Esposito ignored her. "Kate Sorenson. Katherine Sorenson. Detective Katie Sorenson." He tried each one on for size and then shook his head. "Nah. Don't like it."

"Careful," Beckett smirked. "I'll start to think you wish it was Katherine Esposito."

"Don't tell Lanie," he said with mock seriousness. "Why can't we call you Detective Katie Beckett?" He was like a dog chasing a bone with this name thing.

"Because you value your life," Beckett said.

Esposito grinned, seeing he was riling her. "It's cute," he leered. "Ooh, you know what else sounds-"

Esposito stopped up quickly.

Beckett looked up from her endless paperwork, his silence capturing her attention far more efficiently than his teasing. "What?"

"Nothing important," Esposito said. He picked up his vic's file from Beckett's desk and veered towards the door.

"No, Espo, what is it?" she asked. He had turned serious so quickly, it piqued her interest.

"You don't want to know," he said.

"Esposito, if you don't tell me now, you are going to spend your weekend up to your ears in paperwork," Beckett threatened.

Esposito twisted back to look at her, one arm gripping the doorway of her office. "I was going to say," he started. "That Detective Katie Castle..." he paused, gauging her reaction, "sounds cute."

Kate kept her face composed. She didn't let the things that were sparked inside her at his name – _a name that could have been hers – _show in her expression.

They didn't usually talk about him. The boys were intuitive, and they knew her almost too well – they could see the old wounds that were reopened when he was brought up. Esposito's errant thought should have been harmless. Instead, it left them both feeling awkward and tense.

"Beckett, I didn't mean anything by it. Just something that popped into my mind," he said.

"Right," Beckett muttered, because she didn't know what else to say. Esposito nodded and left her office.

Beckett tapped her pen against her table, the name of the infamous drug-smuggler-turned-murderer she was filing against suddenly escaping her. She leaned forward, just to check nobody was hovering near her office, then rolled her chair back and opened up the bottom drawer of her desk.

_Richard Castle,_

_Katherine Beckett and Will Sorenson cordially request your company at their wedding celebrations on the evening of December 22nd._

It went on to give the venue and time. That wasn't the interesting part. She flipped over the smooth card, where black ink was smudged, her handwriting more illegible than usual.

_Castle,  
I understand if you don't want to – hell, I'm not even sure I want you to – but I figure you deserve the choice.  
Yours,  
Kate._

She'd agonised over it for weeks. Should she invite him? Logically, it made no sense to – he was her ex, they hadn't spoken since they broke up, and God knows it hadn't been a particularly clean break. Truth be told, she still harboured resentment. Everything said not to invite him. But when it came to designing the invitations, there was something tweaking inside her that compelled her to include his name on the list.

It was the only invitation she'd touched with any kind of personal message. She'd done it in a haste the night before the invites were sent out, by the light of her bedroom lamp. Only the next morning when she posted them on the way to work, she chickened out. She slipped his from the batch, posted the rest, and shoved Castle's invitation into the dark depths of the bottom drawer once she clocked in.

_Yours, Kate._

She wasn't sure – but she thought that might have been the line that, when reread in the harsh light of morning, scared her into not sending it.

She hadn't meant anything by it. It was a simple closing, a sign off – but it could be construed in such a different way.

Because how could she possibly tell sign a letter to him with _yours_? No matter what happened, she knew one thing for certain: she would never be Rick Castle's again, and he would never be hers.

* * *

**I hope you all survive tonight's finale! Just remember: In Marlowe We Trust. If you've got time in between emotionally preparing yourself for the episode, I'd love if you dropped me your thoughts in a review. You probably already know, but lyrics are from Somebody That I Used To Know by Gotye. **

**- Lauren.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_Eye for an eye, why tear each other apart?  
Please tell me why, why do we make it so hard?  
Look at us now, we only got ourselves to blame  
It's such a shame._

* * *

This was a bad idea.

This was a terrible idea.

The worst ever.

Castle kept telling himself that. But of course, knowing something was a bad idea had never stopped him before, and he wasn't about to let it now. His innate curiosity always won out, and he had long since learned fighting it was futile.

He was walking briskly through Times Square. Jim Beckett had briefly mentioned yesterday – before Castle pulled a runner - that Kate was going for her final dress fitting during her lunch break today. It had stirred a memory for Castle, one from years ago, when she'd confided – under the influence of four glasses of wine - the name of the bridal store she'd always wanted to get a dress from . He knew it was a long shot. She could have found something in another store, or she wouldn't be there at the same time as him, or Jim could have had his facts wrong.

As Castle thought about what he was doing, he groaned. _Definitely _a bad idea.

He had to see her though. He spent most of yesterday afternoon thinking about her. Not with the bitterness that so often laced his thoughts of her, nor with the crippling nostalgia. Just thinking. Not about them, just about her. Her fierce intellect. The depths of her strength. The way her face lit up when she smiled. He thought about the four years they spent together before becoming a couple. As partners, as friends. And in the end, that was what made up his mind. He had to see her, just one last time. Not as her ex boyfriend. As her old friend. For that, he could put aside his vehemence.

Well, he would at least try.

He stopped up outside the bridal store. The windows were mostly covered by gowns and jewellery on display, but there was a break at his eye level that he peered through. There were a few woman browsing in the front of the store, but halfway down there was a right angle turn that blocked half the store from his view. He bounced up and down with nervous energy, and pushed open the door.

The shop smelt like carpet freshener and the cherries that were in a bowl at the till – though Castle suspected the smell was from scented air freshener more than the actual fruit. There was one store assistant here in the front from what he could see, but she was dealing with a customer and didn't pay him any attention.

He turned the corner into the second half of the store and stopped up in his tracks. There, standing on slightly raised circle in the middle of the floor, was Kate.

Her back was to him, and she didn't see him at first, but he could see her face in the mirror that faced. He struggled to put words on her. He drew in a sharp breath of air. That was what she was – she was breathtaking. Her eyes were cast downwards, long eyelashes flicking against her cheeks, as she smoothed her hands on the skirt of her dress. Her hair, dark, chestnut brown, was a cut a couple of inches shorter since he'd last seen her. In that moment, stunned by how beautiful she looked, Castle forgot his bitterness towards her. He wasn't sure if it was true that absence made the heart grow fonder, or if Kate simply grew more and more stunning with age. He suspected a mix of both.

He saw her eyes flick up, and in the mirror, they found his. Her mouth fell open into a slight _o_ shape and she spun around.

"Castle?" she said. Her voice was uncertain, almost like she didn't recognise him.

He gave her a casual smile, as if the entire situation was perfectly ordinary. "Hey, Beckett."

"Why..." she started. "How? How are you here?" She was visibly startled as she struggled for the words to say what she wanted to. He had caught her completely off guard.

"I ran into your dad yesterday," Castle said. "Grocery shopping."

"And he told you I'd be here?" she asked, dubious. Her eyebrows were raised. She was on the defensive now. He could almost see her constructing a wall between them.

"I may have jumped to my own conclusion, but for all intents and purposes, yes," Castle said, his words rushing together like they always did when he was nervous of her reaction. He kept talking. "I just – he told me you were, you know," Castle gestured to her dress.

She stared at him, incredulous. Her mind was whizzing, and she was lifting her arm to point towards the front of the shop and spit _get out, _when Castle kept talking. "And I wanted to tell you good luck, or congratulations, or whatever." He cringed inwardly. _Good luck or congratulations or whatever? Smooth, Rick. Real smooth._

She didn't bark him down. She didn't smile, either, but Castle decided he would take what he could get. "Thank you,"she said. Her voice was even, professional. She was detaching herself from the situation.

"So, can I ask who's the unlucky guy?" he laughed. He was half trying to inject some humour into the moment, but he was also curious.

"Hardly appropriate. You should go," she said. She turned away from him, but she could still see him in the mirror.

"Oh, come on, Beckett. Tell me," he said. He raised his eyebrows at her in a childish expression and said, "You know I'm not going to leave until you do."

And the worst part was, she did know that. She knew how ridiculously persistent Richard Castle could be, and she didn't for a second doubt that he would cling to her until she gave it up.

"Will," she muttered under her breath.

Castle's breath caught. "Will who?"

She ignored him.

"Not Will Sorenson?" he asked.

She didn't reply. And it might have been five years, but he still knew her. He knew her face – and he could tell from it that he had hit the money.

"Beckett, I know it's not my place, but really? _Sorenson_?" Castle said. His distaste was obvious.

Beckett felt flushed. She turned to the mirror and occupied her fingers in her hair. "People can learn to love again, Castle," she said.

He grunted something under is breath that Beckett thought sounded like, "I'd swear I remember you telling me the man didn't know how to make love well in the first place."

She whirled back around to glare at him. "_Castle_," she hissed. That had been _one _drunken conversation, and she hadn't meant it. Honestly.

The buzz of a phone across the room attracted both their attention. Beckett gathered up her skirt in one hand – Castle saw she was wearing black boots underneath, the kind she wore to work – and picked up her phone from the top of her bag across the room. "Beckett," she answered curtly.

Castle watched her expression on the phone. He couldn't make out what the person on the other end was saying.

"Right now?" Beckett asked after a minute.

A few moments passed. The corners of her lips twitched. "Are you sure?"

Another minute. She sighed. "No, it's fine. Right. I'll be there in ten."

She hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of her nostril. She held up her phone in the air. "That was the precinct," she said. She started to gather up her things – her phone, her wallet, her badge, all of which had been lying on the floor - into her bag. Castle felt bad for her. She was trying on her wedding dress, for goodness sake. Couldn't the damn precinct function without her?

"Did a body drop?" he asked. He coughed, his conscience pushing him to offer what he said next. "I could go and, you know, take notes for you."

She laughed, a cold, hard laugh. "Cold day in hell, Castle," she snapped.

Castle prickled. Their conversation thus far hadn't been necessarily friendly, but it had lacked malice at least. Now, any semblance of luke-warmth he'd retained vanished and he was reminded of all the reasons they'd fallen apart.

She caught the look on his face. Part of her felt strangely happy – she had spent the last five years being angry with him, and lashing out at him was almost therapeutic. But his puppy dog expression made her pity him at the same time, so she tossed him a bone.

"It's not a body. There's some crisis at the precinct," she explained.

"They can't last another hour without you?" Castle asked. He felt indignant on her behalf.

"No. I'm going to go back to deal with piles of paperwork and frantic unis now, probably," she sighed.

"Why?" Castle asked. Surely – _surely_ someone else could have held down the fort while she was on her lunch break. Or was Gates just that cruel?

Beckett eyed him. "The boys didn't tell you?"

"We lost touch a long time back," Castle said.

Beckett nodded. "I was made Captain about two years ago."

"Oh, well, Beckett – congratulations. That's pretty something." His words were kind but he couldn't muster up a tone of anything other than neutrality. He was finding it difficult to be happy for her, and anyway, he wasn't necessarily surprised. He always imagined she'd end up somewhere high someday.

"Thank you," she accepted. Again, she had that professional tone with him. She wasn't letting herself get tangled up on any kind of personal level.

He nodded, and there was a moment of terse silence before Beckett said, "Well, I really need to get changed. So." She dipped her head towards the exit.

"Right, of course," Castle said. It felt odd, to both of them. Him having to leave while she changed seemed ridiculously petty after how they use to spend their nights – but it was the principle of the thing.

He took a half step away, then stopped. "Kate?"

She had already been walking away from him. She wasn't sure if it was the way his voice was so soft, or how he used her forename for the first time in this conversation, but when she turned to him, a tiny smidge of her resentment melted away.

"Yes?"

"You look great."

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. "Thanks, Castle," she said, giving him a small smile.

He nodded, and walked away. She watched him go. Again , not quite sure on what compulsion she was acting - maybe because all her other friends would be there, and Castle, above all, had always been her friend first and foremost – she chased after him, still wearing her big white dress.

He was on the street, just outside the main door. She stood in the doorway and shouted to be heard over the New York traffic. "Castle!"

He turned around. She was breathing heavily. "Do you want to come?" she asked him.

He had to hold back a smirk. Well, there it was. She had told Jim she sent him an invite – clearly, she hadn't. But if she thought he was going to grovel at her feet with thanks for throwing him a last minute pity party – there was no way. He'd done enough of that five years ago.

He took a few steps towards her, standing so close he could taste her mint breath. He smiled at her, and then spoke in a nonchalant tone.  
"Cold day in hell, Beckett."

* * *

**I'm not going to discuss details of Watershed in case someone hasn't seen it yet, but I just want to say that I'm in the half of the fandom that is feeling awesome about how it all went down and if any of you are feeling negative about it, send me a message and I'll try to show you all the reasons to be positive about it :)**

**On the topic of this story, I want to let you all know that I'm not just baiting with all the mentions of them falling apart but not actually telling you why. I have it all planned out, but it's going to be dealt with in pieces throughout the story. There a few are clues on one aspect of it that are a little less generalised in the next chapter (I'll tell you this right now: The break up was due to a lot of small events, one big one, and something terrible being said. It wasn't just one thing, which is why I'm taking my time with working them into the story. It'll all be explained as it fits naturally into the progression of this story.)**

**And lastly, a couple of people have wondered if there's going to be a happy ending. I'll say this: If you're not a fan of angst, this isn't the story for you. However, it's not pointless angst, and there will be resolution, and it will be happy.**

**This author's note has become ridiculously long, but I've one last thing to say. This is my first fic with this account and I've been blown away so far by the attention it has gotten. Thank you all very much!**

**Lyrics are from Only Teardrops by Emmelie de Forest (tonight's Eurovision winner.)**

**-Lauren**


	4. Chapter 4

**Uploading this chapter took a little longer than usual because real life got in the way and I was working on a concrete plan of the story, which resulted in tweaking the reason of their breakup a little, so unlike what I said in the last author's note, there aren't really any clues in this chapter, sorry. I'm not that happy with this chapter, but hopefully the next one will compensate. **

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. **

**Lyrics are from Bruno Mars' 'If I Was Your Man'.**

* * *

Chapter 4

_Same bed, but it feels just a little bit bigger now  
Our song on the radio, but it don't sound the same  
When our friends talk about you all that it does is just tear me down  
Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name  
And it all just sound like oh, oh, oh_

* * *

"And then he just walked away. He left me standing there in my big stupid dress just staring after him."

"Kate, you know how much I value these little chats we have," Lanie said, somewhat sarcastically. If wasn't so much a 'chat' as 'Beckett Ranting: A Monologue'. "But I'm a little busy right now." Her hands were inside a dead guy's chest. Beckett had dealt with the emergency at the precinct – a menial thing that had been blown far out of proportion – and decided that nothing in her job description indicated that an occasional check-up trip to the morgue wasn't in order. She didn't get to see Lanie half as often anymore since her promotion, and right now she wanted her friend's counsel.

"He's still the same egotistical jackass," Beckett growled. She pulled herself up to sit on a table.

"Girl, I told you that letting everyone think you'd invited him was a bad idea."

"It wasn't everyone," Beckett defended. "It was Will and my Dad, and only because they'd seen the invite list."

"Him showing up at the fitting was creepy, I'll give you that," Lanie consented.

"Why would he even do that?" Beckett asked. "What would make him show up like that, after everything?"

Lanie gave her a look. Beckett groaned. "Lanie, don't."

"I'm just saying," Lanie said. "Only two reasons a guy wants to see his ex before she gets married."

Beckett wasn't sure she wanted to know what they were, but she was sure that Lanie was about to supply the information.

"Either he wants to soothe his ego by seeing if she's still pining over him," said Lanie, to which Beckett snorted. "Or..." she trailed off.

"Or?" Beckett prompted.

Lanie raised an eyebrow at her. They both knew what she was implying.

"Lanie, it's not like that," Beckett said.

"Then what is it like?" Lanie asked, raising her shoulders.

"It's just him being... him," Beckett said.

"If you say so," Lanie said, in that way of hers that made Beckett want to pull out her hair.

She ran her hands through her hair and shook it. "You know what, I am not even to give the guy another thought," Beckett said. "How are you doing?" she asked, waving her hand in the direction of a very pregnant Lanie's stomach.

"I'm fine. Javier, on the other hand, is beginning to have a freak out," Lanie rolled her eyes. "I think he's only realising now that in three months, he'll have a child."

"He can't be as bad as Ryan was. Do you remember what he was like in the last months of Jenny's pregnancies?" Beckett grinned. "His face was permanently green. And I think the second time was even worse."

"I'm just trying to figure out when we all became such adults," Lanie said, starting to sew up the Y-shaped cut on her dead body. "Ryan has a family, Javier and I are having a baby, and you're about to be married."

Yeah. Yeah, she was about to be married. The words still sounded strange. _Married._ The fingers of her right hand twisted the silver ring. It felt heavy on her hand.

She was comfortable with Will. She really, really was. He was good for her. About two and a half years ago, he scored something of a permanent position in Manhattan. She found out later that when he called her to ask if she wanted to get a coffee, he had only been moved into his apartment for a day. He surprised her and told her that letting her go was the worst mistake he'd ever made and that he'd do anything if she'd give him another shot. She was single and he was a good guy, and she thought, why not? So when he proposed to her last New Year's, the only coherent thought that could form in her mind was '_Why not?_'

"Speaking of, don't forget your fitting is scheduled for next Tuesday," Beckett said. "And I need your help running through the set list one last time –"

"Kate," Lanie said. "I got it."

"I actually need to go. I have to finish paperwork by six so I can finalize numbers with the caterer," Beckett said, gathering her things.

"Don't forget to breathe," Lanie said.

Beckett flashed her a look as she headed for the door.

"And, Kate?" Lanie called after her.

Beckett stopped, one foot out the door. "Yeah?"

"Girl, I hope you know what you're getting into with this marriage," Lanie said.

Beckett dropped her eyes. Lanie had a talent for saying things a thousand times better with her tone than her words. Her tone now was one Beckett hadn't heard in years, not since she was struggling with her emotions for Castle before they'd ever got together. It wasn't a tone that she liked hearing.

"Lanie, we work really well together –"

"We don't have to talk about it," Lanie said. "Just be sure you know what you want. Okay?"

"I do, Lanie," she said brusquely. She backed out of the room.

As she walked through the hallway of the morgue, the question floated around her mind. It plagued her. The words crept into her mind and whispered at her ear. She couldn't escape them.

_Did she?_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_It took a cup of coffee  
To prove that you don't love me_

* * *

Castle made his morning pilgrimage from his bed to the coffee machine. He had never used to drink this much caffeine when he was younger, but now he could barely function in the morning until he'd had a large cup. He got out his favourite china mug – which was, admittedly, NYPD issue, but only because after all these years the thing was still unbreakable, and it because it was the perfect size for both his coffee machine and his hands, he swears – and flicked the switch on his machine.

Huh.

He flicked it again. And again. Then checked that it was plugged in. He tried the switch again, and still, _nothing._

He groaned. He took the quickest shower of his life, dressed, and fifteen minutes later was in a cab. He was up now anyway, so he decided to go the extra distance to his favourite coffee place instead of making the shorter walk to the nearby one that had coffee that looked good, but always leaved a weird after-taste in his mouth.

He felt the crisp chill in the wind even in the short length of time it took him to walk from his cab to the café. The warm air that swooshed around him when he walked inside was welcomed. He was met with the scent of coffee and freshly baked cakes. He smiled and took a place in the queue.

He felt ever so slightly out of place. At this hour of the morning, the café was populated almost entirely with office workers in designer suits and joggers in tight leggings and headbands. Like the man in front of him in the queue – Castle could only see his back, but he was wearing a neat black suit with small grey pinstripes. He had a black briefcase with – was that the Armani insignia? _Come on,_ Castle thought. Who needed an Armani _briefcase_? It was pretentious.

Castle turned towards the glass that separated him from an endless array of muffins and croissants and cinnamon swirls and bearclaws. They all looked fabulous. The café was busy, but the slow moving queue passed quickly with the distraction of sugar.

He was nearly at the top of the queue when a voice snapped him from his internal debate between chocolate or vanilla pancakes. "Richard Castle?"

Castle's head turned. He almost took a step back in surprise. It had been years since he'd seen the real person– but he'd seen photos Beckett had of her younger days. The pretentious businessman Castle had taken a dislike to?

"William Sorenson," Castle said. He plastered a smile on his face.

"It's just Will," Sorenson said. He held out his hand. Castle took it, albeit shaking with a little more force than required.

"What brings you here?" Castle asked. He felt territorial. This was his favourite coffee place, his turf.

"Kate sent me here to get coffee. Says it's the best place in a twenty block radius," Sorenson said.

Yeah, well, of course she had. Castle wondered when the last time the woman had gotten her own damn coffee was.

The queue moved again, and Sorenson placed his order.

"Black coffee with two sugars and a grande skimmed latte with a pump of vanilla," he said.

"Two," Castle corrected.

Sorenson looked at him. "What?"

"Two pumps. Grande skimmed latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla," Castle said. "That's what Beckett likes."

The coffee boy looked between both of them, not knowing whose order to ring up. "Sir?" he asked, his eyes deciding on his original patron.

Sorenson cleared his throat. "What he said," he muttered, shuffling the credit cards in his wallet.

Castle placed his order, just getting an espresso. And of course, because Coincidence is a fickle creature, Sorenson and Castle's drinks were put down at the collection bay at the same time.

"Set for the big day?" Castle asked. Yes, he was prying, and no, he wasn't ashamed of it.

"Kate's going crazy over tiny things," Sorenson said, giving that _you know how it is _kind of smile. "I'm sure you could tell from just the invites."

"Oh, no," Castle said. "Mine was lost in the mail."

Sorenson wasn't FBI for nothing, but either way, the sarcasm in Castle's voice was difficult to miss. "What?" Sorenson said. "No, no. Kate definitely had you on the list," he said, his eyebrows furrowed.

Castle shrugged. Clearly, Beckett hadn't told Sorenson about their little run in. He wasn't sure what exactly to make of that.

"Hang on," Sorenson said. He put his (pretentious, Armani) briefcase up on the counter and unlocked it. He angled it away from Castle – okay, _maybe_ he tried to get a look at the FBI docs, but come on, who wouldn't? – and ruffled through neat stacks of papers.

Right at the bottom, in a zipper compartment, were some pages that looked less official. Sorenson flicked through them, extracted one, glanced at it, and held it out to Castle.

"This was just a prototype," Sorenson said, "But it has all the details."

Castle didn't take it straight away. He had told Beckett in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be going. Thrown her invite back her in face. No doubt but that she was livid with him right now. Probably never wanted to see him again.

But, he had only said no to Beckett to prove a point. If he accepted an invitation now? From her fiancé?

"William," Castle said, with his smug smile, "How very magnanimous of you."

Getting to watch Beckett be infuriated? Getting to be the one to infuriate her?

"You're... welcome?" Sorenson said. Castle's swerving attitude throughout their conversation had completely thrown him. The invite passed between them, and Castle tucked it inside his jacket.

That would be more fun than shark week.

* * *

"You did _what_?" Beckett said.

She didn't shout. Oh, no. Shouting would have meant she was angry beyond reason. She wasn't angry, per se.

She was murderous.

Sorenson knew her shouts – was accustomed to them, even. But her quiet voice?

It scared the hell out of him, and she knew it.

"Will," Beckett said. "What possible reason could you have for inviting my ex-boyfriend to our wedding?"

"You had him on the invite list," Sorenson said. "I thought he was supposed to be coming. I thought that was what you wanted. I was trying to make you happy."

Beckett's breath caught in her throat. Yes, she knew there was a reason she was marrying Will. He was a workaholic, he wasn't always the most affectionate – but he... he reflected her. He matched her strength for strength, and he damn well tried his best for her.

Lanie didn't see these moments, Beckett thought. She didn't see how nicely her and Will complemented each other. Lanie thought because she'd had such a front-row seat to _one_ of her relationships that she knew how all of them functioned.

She thought of Lanie's question yesterday. _Yes._ Beckett knew exactly what she was doing. It was natural she might have some doubts so close to the wedding, but yes, she knew what she wanted.

She put her hands around Will's neck and pulled him down to her. She pressed her lips against his.

"Love you," he murmured.  
"Back at you," she grinned against his mouth.

He pulled back slightly, but she could still taste his breath on her lips. "Not all of us have the luxury of a day off," he said.

"Day off," she snorted. "My phone's going to go crazy with all the calls from the precinct."

"Hang on in there," he said. "This time next month, you and I will be in the heart of Paris. No precinct. No ex-boyfriends. Just you," he pulled her in close to him. "And I. All alone, with a hotel suite all to ourselves."

She pushed him away. "Okay, hot stuff," she mocked. "Pipe down. You have a job to go to." She gave him a small smile though, so he knew she wasn't angry.

"I'll see you this evening," he promised.  
"Okay."

He walked towards the door. Still smiling at him, she took a sip of her coffee. "Hey," she said, "You got it right for once."

Sorenson shot her a dazzling smile as he headed out the door. "Of course I did," he said.

* * *

**Lyrics are from Cup Of Coffee by Garbage. It's for Beckett/Will as opposed to Caskett, but only those last two lines that are listed. The rest of the song doesn't really apply to them. Beautiful song though.**

**Your thoughts are always appreciated :)**

**- Lauren **


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_Too much, too much is never enough  
I had you and I gave you up  
No idea where my mind was for months_

_It'd be safer to hate her_  
_Than to love her and to lose her_  
_It'd be safer to hate her all around_

* * *

Happy didn't seem to like hanging around with Beckett for very long. Within an hour of Sorenson's departure, she had worked herself into a thunderstorm of livid anger with Castle. On top of everything, thanks to him, she had to now go and completely rearrange the seating chart and let the caterer know there'd be two more mouths to feed (because no doubt the jackass would take the liberty of bringing along a plus one) and reserve yet another room in the hotel. He was setting her back by miles. As if she didn't have enough to organise already.

Really, who the hell did he think he was? To storm in on her when she was trying on her wedding dress – he had all but _stalked _her there – and spit her offer back in her face as if him coming to the wedding was a privilege he was denying her of. And then, to somehow 'bump into' Will at a coffee shop – _a likely story_, she thought –and somehow coerce Will into believing Kate wanted him at the wedding?

She resolved to voluntarily speak to him one more time so she could let him know exactly what she thought of him.

Just as soon as she assigned him a seat by the kitchen. With any luck, one of the waiters would drop a plate of something on his head. Preferably something heavy.

Suddenly she had images in her mind of Castle knocking into the waiter that carried out the cake, sending the whole thing sprawling to the ground –

Beckett scrambled through her paperwork to find the map of the seating chart. She was putting Castle as far away from the kitchen as humanly possible. Beside the music so it would be blaring in his ears? No – the music wouldn't be starting until after dinner, and once the food wasn't tying him to his seat, Castle would likely be making embarrassing attempts at dancing and flirting.

She tried to think of where he would be most uncomfortable, but _damn him,_ the man fit seamlessly into every situation he was thrown into.

Beckett shoved the papers to the other side of her coffee table. She picked up her phone and unlocked it. Taking heavy breaths, she tapped in the number. She'd never had reason to notice before, but now she realised she still knew the number by heart, down to the last digit.

He answered on the second ring – he wasn't playing hard to get, at least. But his tone far negated any credit he was due.

"Why, Detective," he answered. "How nice of you to call."

"I see you're making a habit of targeting my family members in food stores," Beckett said.

"You do keep such good company, Detective, I find it impossible to resist."

"Captain." If she was going to let him get his quips in, she was damn well going to make him work for them. Nobody at the precinct actually called her Captain – expect Esposito on occasion, and with him it was more of an affectionate term than anything else

"_Captain,_ my apologies. Are you sure you don't follow in the footsteps of your predecessor?" Castle asked. "Should I call you sir?"

"Only if you no longer have any regard for your wellbeing," she threatened.

"What happened to Gates, anyway?" Castle asked.

"That's confidential NYPD information," Beckett said. She had swung a sweet early retirement deal, but no harm in letting Castle get worked up over not knowing something.

"Oh, and I suppose next you'll be telling me I have to return my coffee mug to the precinct," Castle scoffed.

"What?"

"Nothing. So, I take it this call isn't because you found yourself berating the loss of my irresistable wit?"

"I feel thankful every day that I no longer have to put up with your supposed sense of humour," she said.

"You miss it," Castle insisted.

"Now see, that I can appreciate as being funny," she said. "What's not funny is the fact that you somehow bullied my fiancé into inviting you to our wedding."

"Because you're above a mistake like that, as you so finely exhibited yesterday."

"I'm still on my first coffee of the day, Castle. I don't have the energy to manage a nine year old."

"How is your coffee?" Castle asked.

Beckett pulled the take away cup from her lips and looked at it with suspicion. "Did you spit in it?" she asked.

"Captain Beckett, I am offended," Castle said, with overly dramatic indignation.

"Castle, you keep taking this off topic." She tried to muster up her professional voice. "Why were you in the coffee place this morning?"

"To get coffee." He spoke like he was the one who had to deal with a nine year old.

"So it's just a coincidence that you've encountered two people close to me in the last week?"

"Is this an interrogation?" Castle asked. "I'm feel like I'm under arrest."

"Trust me, Castle, if I had probable cause to get you in handcuffs, I'd have you arrested so fast you wouldn't know what had hit you."

"You know, when you say handcuffs, I conjure up images –"

"You kidding me, Castle?"

"Images for my _books_," he said. Yeah, Castle. Nice save.

"Oh, and about those," she said. She had _plenty _of grievances with Castle, and now was as good a time as any to air some out. "Why are you even still writing Nikki?"

"Do you remember Clara Strike from the Storm novels?" he asked. "She started off based from real woman, but became much more than that woman could ever even aspire to be. I used to think Nikki Heat was different," Castle said in a pensive tone. "As it turns out, Nikki continues to make up for what her muse lacks."

Ouch. That stung.

"Say that to my face, Castle," Beckett growled.

"Is that an invitation, Detective?" Castle asked.

It hadn't been, but to hell with it.

"It's a challenge," she said. "Stop trying to speak to me through your novels –"  
"You still read-?"  
"and through what you do to your characters. You have something to share with the class, Ricky? I'm on duty all day tomorrow. You know the building, right? I think you visited once or twice."

"Oh, you just-"

"And Castle?" she said. "It's _Captain._"

She jammed the red button and slammed her phone down on to the table. She ran her hands through her hair. She took deep breaths to calm herself down.

She so wanted him to mean nothing to her. For him to be just another blip in the story of her life. But he knew exactly how to get a reaction out of her. The reality was, she didn't feel nothing towards him, which was what she so desperately wished to feel. She had never been able to just feel nothing for him.

No. She didn't nothing him. She hated him. She hated him with a deep and fervent passion. And she would _always _hate him_. _

* * *

**As I was editing this chapter I realised that I was setting Beckett up for people to hate on her in reviews. Just please bear with me when I say that she has good reason, and that it will be revealed later when it fits better into the flow of the story. Also, this isn't a story of Castle pining over her. These bitter feelings are mutual, and they both have their valid reasons.**

**Lyrics are from 'Safer to Hate Her' by You Me At Six.**

**Thanks for reading :)**

**- Lauren**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war  
You and I go rough, we keep throwing things and slamming the door  
You and I get so damn dysfunctional we stopped keeping score  
You and I get sick, yeah I know that we can't do this no more_

* * *

He was overthinking this.

He had spent almost every day for five years at the precinct and had never obsessed like this over what to wear. Well, when Kate was with Demming, and then Josh, he made a little more effort, he'll admit, but he had never tried on this many different outfits in the morning. It wasn't even like it mattered this time. He knew that Kate didn't care what he wore. He knew that – but he still couldn't bring himself to just throw on any old thing.

Finally, finally, he settled on an outfit. He was tense the duration of the journey to the precinct. He'd been all talk on the phone, sure, but talking to Beckett in person was a different story. He was entering the lion's den. This was her turf. And what was he supposed to say to her? _Love what you've done with the office, Beckett, and by the way, putting Heat through endless torture is my childish way of lashing out at you. Coffee?_

He wondered if they still had his coffee machine.

He certainly hoped so. He didn't plan on staying long enough to need a coffee break, but if he did, he didn't want to have to drink battery acid.

The taxi pulled up near the precinct. He took his hands out of his pockets and wiped them on his jeans. _Get a grip, Castle,_ he thought. _It's only Beckett._

That wasn't particularly comforting.

He walked quickly into the elevator and hit the button for the homicide floor. Halfway up, it stopped and the doors opened to let someone in. A detective that had their nose in a file, wearing a three-piece suit and a wedding ring, stepped in without looking up. They thumbed the already lit button for Homicide. Castle smirked and waited.

When Ryan eventually looked up, he actually stumbled backwards, arms splayed out against the wall of the elevator.

"Castle?" he said. He sounded like he was looking at a ghost.

"Ah, Detective Ryan," Castle nodded. "Good to see you again." Like he'd just been away for a couple of weeks on a book signing.

"What-" Ryan started, and then he shook his head. "Dude, she'll kill you."

"I'll risk it."

Ryan shifted uneasily. "Do you know about-"

"The scandalous love affair?" he nodded. "It came up."

The elevator binged and opened onto Homicide. The floor was laid out exactly as he remembered it. Ryan stepped out, and Castle thought he heard him mutter, "It's your funeral."

Castle took a second to look around. The same floor layout, desks in the same pattern, but one stark difference that stood out to him sharper than it probably should have. The desk wedged in across from Esposito's didn't have 'Det. Beckett' on a nameplate, didn't have a chair placed beside it, didn't have a hot brunette sitting there.

His eyes scanned across the room and fell on the door to the office that he had known first as Roy Montgomery's, then as Victoria Iron Gates'. And now, as Katherine Beckett's.

The venetian blinds on the windows and door were tightly shut. He couldn't see inside the office. He would be wandering in blind to what he'd meet.

Castle realised that some people were staring at him, and he recognised faces that were blurred in his memory. Some people either didn't notice him, or followed the others' line of sight with confusion in their eyes. Fresh meat from the Academy. Castle felt a little smug at the thought that he , a 'civilian consultant' could likely solve any murder case presented to them in half the time any of those meticulously trained uniforms could.

The eyes that recognised him, though - people that he would have once smiled at in the morning and made small talk with in the break room – the looks they shot him were largely a combination of curiosity and hostility, and nobody approached him with any kind of greeting. _They love their Captain, _Castle thought. Obviously, none of them knew for sure what had broken up him and Beckett, but they knew it was messy enough that the pair fell completely out of touch, and at the end of the day, Beckett was one of their own. They sided with her.

Castle moved away from the elevator, smiling at anyone he recognised. Many nodded back and then glanced away awkwardly; some point-blank ignored him. Either way, he made sure to meet the eyes of each of them.

He paused outside her office door. Should he knock? Oh, what the hell, he thought. Like Ryan had said, it was his funeral. He opened the door and stepped in.

Castle drew in a sharp breath. Beckett was sitting at her desk, mulling over paperwork, and she was wearing a tie_. Damn woman did that on purpose_, Castle thought. She knew all too well what her in a tie did to him.

She looked up slowly, met his eyes. She looked straight through him, looked at him like he was any random stranger off the street.

"I'm afraid I'm not free at the moment," she said. She pointed the nib of her pen at the door. "One of my detectives will be happy to take care of you."

"Oh, great," Castle said. "I'll just go ask that fine young Irish chap if a purple or green tie is more appropriate for a wedding."

"Close the door, Castle," she snapped, losing the pretence. She sounded tired.

Her eyes were drawn down to her paperwork, but her animosity was clear through her voice alone. This wasn't the give-and-take they'd had on the phone last night. This wasn't even the irritated teasing of when they'd first met. He was taken aback at how she was dealing with him. When he saw her in the bridal store, she had been caught off guard. When they spoke on the phone last night, she was high on the adrenaline of her anger.

This, he realised, this was how she'd felt about him for the last five years. Cold, hard, passionless antagonism.

Castle stood silently, waiting. She made him wait, but not for very long. After a minute, she put down her pen and looked up at him.

"Why, Castle?" she asked.

Okay. Not what he was expecting. Verbal abuse, shouting, and ear clipping were all on his list of predictions. Her being calm – not scary calmness, the kind that came before a storm, but sincerity and... He didn't know if he'd call it curiosity, exactly, but it was something in that family – that wasn't what he'd anticipated.

And suddenly whatever snarky comeback he'd been planning caught in his throat and left his mouth dry.

"Do you think this is funny?" she asked.

"Oh, no," he said, finding his voice again. "On the contrary, I think it's hilarious."

She scoffed and looked away from him, directing her gaze out the window. Her face was angry, but he could see more there too. There was a kind of quiet sadness in her eyes, a lingering sense of regret. Or maybe he was just seeing what he wanted to see.

But he had always been good at reading Kate.

She looked back at him, meeting his eyes. "It's my wedding, Castle. The last thing I need is an ex creating drama," she said. "Especially an ex like you."

He was about to ask her what she meant by 'an ex like him' when Ryan opened the door of her office.

"Beckett," Ryan said. He was clutching his phone so tightly his knuckles were blanched.

"Ryan, we're kind of-"

"No, you're going to want to take this call," he said, holding out the phone to her.

She stood up and took it, feeling wary. "Beckett," she answered.

Castle heard noise from the other end, but couldn't make out any individual words. Castle watched her expression change sharply as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly. The muscles in her arm tensed.

"What is it?" Castle asked Ryan. Ryan shook his head, looking at the ground.

"We'll be right there," Beckett said. Her voice was tight. She disconnected the call and stayed sitting for a moment, staring into the distance, like she'd entirely forgotten Castle's presence.

"Kate?" Castle said. "What is it?"

Beckett barely heard him. Her head shook slightly to either side.

"What happened, Kate?" Castle asked again.

She swallowed hard and looked up at him.

"It's Bracken," she said.

* * *

April, 2013

_"You should go home," Castle said._

_Beckett had been completely absorbed in the papers on her desk. Castle's comment ripped her back to reality, and she looked at him with disorientation._

_"No," she shook her head. Her voice was husky. "No, I'm fine. Thanks," she added, giving him a small smile._

_He leaned over her desk and tried to take the papers from her hands. "Kate, they'll still be here in the morning."_

_She pushed back in her chair, pulling the papers away from him. "Come on, Castle, stop it." She wasn't a child. She could decide her own bedtime._

_She was so close. She knew Bracken was responsible for this victim, a 22 year old student. He had to be. This was her chance. She needed to do everything right, needed to create a case so watertight against him that nothing would come in the way of his conviction. _

_Right now, it was past midnight, but she was buzzing with caffeine and didn't want to lose her momentum. Castle telling her to go home and get some rest every five minutes wasn't helping anyone. She knew he was concerned for her, but she could handle this._

_"Beckett, seriously, you need to sleep." His hand darted out and he snatched the papers from her._

_"Castle!" she said, trying to get them back. He was way out of line._

_Across the otherwise empty precinct, Esposito raised his brow and said, "Dude. Too far."_

_Castle made a face that Beckett could only call a scowl. "I'm just trying-"_

_"Castle, please," she said softly. She put her hand on his and squeezed gently. "I know what you're trying to do. But you have to let me do this."_

_Everything inside him was screaming at him to stop her, to keep her from tumbling down that rabbit hole again. But she was looking at him with such absolute sincerity, and he realised she was right. She had to put this thing to rest before she would ever be able to sleep easy._

_"Okay," he said. He passed her back half of the papers and spread the rest out on the desk in front of him. "But we do it together."_

_She smiled at him, tracing her fingers across the back of his hand. "Together," she promised._

* * *

Her voice sounded dead. Castle's stomach twisted. _No, no, no, no. Hadn't they dealt with that man five years ago? Hadn't they seen the end of him? _ Before Castle could say anything, Beckett continued, still using that stark tone.

"He's been murdered."

Castle stared at her. Bracken was... Bracken was _dead_?

"It was dispatch. They want the 12th to... want us to work the case," Beckett said. She stood up and took her jacket from the back of the chair. She was moving like she was underwater. Her eyes were glazed over. She was seeing a very different world than her office. Bracken with a bullet in his chest. Bracken slumped against an alley wall. Bracken with cold, unseeing eyes.

She felt a flash of vengeance.

_There was her justice._

She shook that off. No. This wasn't justice. This was more death and pain added to a list that didn't seem to ever stop growing.

"Beckett," Castle was saying. She brought herself back to the present.

"You need to leave now, Caste," she said, skirting around him to the door.

He backed up quickly, blocking her exit route. "Beckett," he said. "Let me work the case with you."

Beckett stopped in her tracks. She gave a sharp, barking laugh. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly serious," he said.

She crossed her arms. "Why would I do that?" she asked.

"Because it's _Bracken_," Castle said. She didn't look impressed. Castle continued quickly. "Because this is our closure, Beckett, our cessation." He spun a story for her. "After years of turmoil and defeat, we have reached our point of victory. This is a momentous event in our history. The end is a stone's throw away. We began this together and so the universe dictates we must finish it together. You wouldn't really risk losing justice, would you?" he asked. He shrugged. "Plus, I have really bad writer's block and Gina will kill me if I don't get her a plotline for the next book within the month."

Beckett had a slight, amused smirk on her lips. She stepped closer to him. "I let you work this case with us," she said. "And you don't come to the wedding."

"Deal," Castle said. He figured he could weasel his way back into the wedding at a later date, and even if he couldn't, the wedding was just one day. The case could go on for weeks.

Beckett was slightly caught out. She had thought she'd put him in a tight position. She didn't actually think he would give up the wedding for the case. What she'd promised him started to sink in. She resisted the impulse to scowl at him. She shifted her weight between her feet.

"Fine," she said. "Fine. But you are _observing_. You don't talk and you do exactly as I tell you."

"Oh, yeah, because that worked so well –" he stopped talking when he saw the glare she was giving him, but the goofy grin stayed plastered on his face.

Beckett pushed past him and out of her office. He followed her, Ryan and Esposito falling in after them. She could feel the eyes of her colleagues following her as she walked to the elevator.

The air in the elevator was heavy. Under any other circumstances, the boys would have been poking fun at her over Castle being there, but this was not the time. The three men were trying to look at Beckett without her noticing, wanting to gauge her reaction to what had happened. Her face was a mask of serenity. There was a wall between what she showed the world and what was going on in her head.

When they reached her car, Castle let out a sound that could only be described as a squeal. "You got a new car," he said, running his hands along the shiny paintwork. "Can I drive?"

Beckett glared at him as she wrenched open the driver's door and sat in. Castle took the seat beside her. He fiddled with the buttons on her dashboard. "Ooh, what does this –"

Beckett's seat snapped backwards. Her head ended up essentially in Ryan's lap.

"Oops," Castle said.

Beckett grit her teeth.

They had better solve this damn case quickly.

* * *

**First flashback in this chapter. First of many! **

**Last chapter got a lot of reviews, and because I had exams I couldn't respond to all of them, but I just want to say thank you very much and that I read and appreciate every single one of them.**

**Lyrics from One More Night, Maroon 5.**

**-Lauren**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_All this bad blood here, won't you let it dry?_  
_It's been cold for years, won't you let it lie?_

* * *

Once Beckett adjusted her chair – and the boys' laughter had been silenced by one of her glares – the atmosphere in the car was tense. Castle glanced at Beckett from the corner of his eye, trying to assess how she was dealing with this. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her jaw locked, her eyes fixed on the road ahead of her.

"Ryan, what was that address that dispatch gave?" she asked, looking at him through the rear-view mirror.

Ryan fumbled through the pockets in the inner lining of his jacket and produced a folded piece of paper. He read out the address they'd been given, an alley on the lower west side. Castle caught Beckett's eye and frowned. Her expression mimicked his.

"Wasn't Bracken's place on the other side of the city?" Castle asked. When they'd put his case to rest – or at least, when they'd come as close as they ever would to doing so – Bracken had been put on house arrest. Not exactly a suitable punishment for a murder charge, but there had been... complications.

"Are you sure that's where dispatch said the body is?" Beckett asked.

"See for yourself," Ryan said, passing out the slip of paper to her. She caught it between her index and middle finger, holding it out in front of her on the dashboard. Her eyes flickered between the road in front of her and the writing.

"Castle," she said, giving the paper to him. Her voice was taught. He read the address. Then he read it again, and a third time. He scanned the words, a childish part of him hoping that if he stared at them hard enough the letters would scramble and create a different combination. He'd seen this address before. It stirred memories of sleepless nights hunched over old documents and long days at the precinct speaking to person after person with little to show for their labours.

"This is the alley where your mother was killed," Castle said.

His old partner looked at him, and his stomach twisted. There was a glint in her eyes of pain, of fear, of something inside her that was screaming_ not this again._

"Well, what does that mean?" Ryan asked.

"It might just be a coincidence," she said. She took her eyes off the street again, lingering on Castle.

"Probably," he said. She nodded and turned her attention back to the road.

They both knew it wasn't. There were no coincidences in murder. They had learnt that together. And this story, above all others, had never had a plot hole before. That Bracken was killed in the same street that Johanna was all those years ago couldn't be coincidental. But they were both grasping for some semblance of reassurance, and if they found it in each other's words, they weren't complaining.

They were on the edge of the city, where the lines between urban and suburban blurred. The sick feeling in Castle's stomach that had taken hold when she picked up the phone call grew worse with each turn of the car.

She jerked the car to a halt. Everyone was silent, waiting for Beckett to make the first move. She flexed her fingers, releasing her death-grip on the steering wheel, and stepped out of the car in one deft movement. Castle and the boys followed her. They turned the corner into the alley.

Castle's breath caught. He saw the body, pale and lifeless, slumped beside a collection of garbage cans. There was something eerie about the way the body was placed. Eyes closed, head tilted, one arm slung outwards. Lower torso soaked with blood, multiple rips in his shirt.

Then it hit him. The reason why there was such an eerie feeling. He was looking at William Bracken's body left in the same place and in the same position that Johanna Beckett's was almost two decades ago.

Beckett was taking slow steps to the body. Perlmutter was there, taking careful notes on a pad of paper. She crouched down beside him. Castle struggled to remember: how much had Perlmutter known about Johanna's case?

"Cause of death?" Beckett asked.

"It looks like this wound here," Perlmutter pointed at it with his pen. "Got him straight in the kidney. He would have been dead in minutes."

Beckett's throat bobbed. "And the other wounds?" she asked.

"Hard to say," Perlmutter said. "They don't seem to serve any real purpose."

Beckett put one hand on the cold ground to support herself. "Anything else?"

"I can tell you that he wasn't killed here. Lack of blood splatter. Looks like he's been dead awhile, too," Perlmutter said. "I'll have more when I get him back to the morgue."

"Alright, thank you," Beckett said.

Perlmutter stood up and turned around. He looked Castle up and down and asked, "Where do I know you from?"

Behind him, Castle heard Ryan and Esposito snickering. Castle stared at Perlmutter, horrified. They hadn't exactly been friends, but _come on_. Perlmutter couldn't possibly have forgotten who he was.

"It's me," Castle said. "Rick Castle?" Perlmutter's face was blank. "I was Beckett's boyfriend," Castle said, getting desperate. "I was that guy you loved to hate!"

"Ah, yes. Detective Beckett's old flame," Perlmutter said. "Now that you mention it, I do recall the celebrations that took place after you left. Excuse me." Perlmutter walked around him, heading for the morgue-mobile.

Castle turned to Ryan and Esposito. "There weren't really celebrations, were there?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, bro. They got pretty wild," Esposito said.  
"Banners, balloons, the whole shebang. Gates even sprung for chinese for everyone," Ryan added.

"Ahah, yes, very funny," Castle said dryly.

He turned away from them and took a few steps closer to Beckett. She was still crouched beside the body, an unreadable expression on her face. He approached her slowly and bent down beside her. She didn't push him away.

"Everything about this is the same as my Mom, Castle," she said in a low voice. She shook her head. "Who would do this?"

He didn't have a clue. None of it seemed to make any sense. Someone killed Bracken in the same way Johanna Beckett was killed, then moved the body and left it in the same place and positioning that Johanna's was. Who was there even left that was involved with the grand Beckett conspiracy? The hired muscle, the three cops, the other victims along the way. Gone, gone, gone.

A thought struck him. There _was_ one person left.

"Kate," he said. "You didn't...?"

She realised what he was suggesting and looked at him in disbelief. "Thought you knew me better than that, Castle."

He did. Or at least, he had, once upon a time. Even still, he felt immediately guilty that he'd entertained the notion, even for a second. Beckett's morality could be grey when it came to people she cared about. That was no different to himself, and if he was being honest, it was one of the many things that had attracted him to her. But it had never – to the extent of his knowledge, anyway - been born from a place of malice.

"You could be a completely different person now, for all I know," he said. It was a weak argument and he knew it.

"Have a few years really made so much difference?" she asked. There was a strange quality to her tone. He wanted to describe it as detached nostalgia, but cringed away from the oxymoron.

"Not so much the time as the circumstances," he said.

"And I suppose these particular _circumstances_... Bracken's murder, talking about my mother... you're enjoying the fact that it's all being brought back for me?" she asked, a bitter smile playing on her lips. "You know, given your departing sentiment."

His words from that day came back to him and he winced. If he wanted a chance to apologise – this was it. But stubbornness and resentment prevented him from recanting his statement. Instead, he said, "You'll find it was you that did the departing."

"Because you practically pushed me out the door," she said.

"I wouldn't say I pushed you-"

"No?" Kate asked. He had sparked a flame and it was dancing inside of her, like the tongues of a bonfire in October. "How did it go again, Castle?" She stared fiercely at him. "_'I'm glad your mother's dead_.' Was that it?"

Castle said nothing. _Yes_, he thought. _That was it_.

That had been the final straw. There had been other things, other things that had been pushing them apart and systematically making him – not fall out of love with her, not quite, but what he'd been feeling was certainly closer to hate than love. That, though – that had been what had ended it. In the heat of an argument, he'd shouted it at her – and suddenly everything had become very quiet. She had stared at him, mouth slightly open and the threat of tears in her eyes. Then she'd grabbed a bag and filled it with her things. He didn't say a word, and neither did she. She left. She never came back.

Afterwards, he'd kicked himself over it. He didn't know where it had come from. _That wasn't him_. He'd been lashing out at her – obviously he wasn't glad Johanna was dead. But he was never able to bring himself to take it back. Because there was a very small part of him that had been driven to a point where he was glad of the pain that had been inflicted on Kate over the years. He hated himself for that. He would always hate himself for that. But it was the truth.

"Beckett!" Ryan's shout came from thirty or so yards down the alley. Esposito was with him, and they were both staring at the wall in front of them. "You're gonna want to see this!"

The two of them stood up. Castle tried to shake off that conversation. The moment for an apology had passed, and knowing her - because he did know her, really - she probably wouldn't bring it up again. They walked down to meet the boys. A few yards away from them, Beckett actually froze in her tracks, and Castle quickly saw why.

On the wall, written in a liquid that looked suspiciously like blood, were words that left them all reeling.

'_Long live Johanna Beckett.'_

* * *

**So there you have the final straw. There's still more of their history to be told, though, in regards to both the relationship, and what happened with Bracken five years ago.  
****I'm heading on holidays to Paris the day after tomorrow, so the next chapter won't be up as soon as usual.  
****Lyrics are from Bad Blood by Bastille.  
Hope you're enjoying the story!**

**- Lauren**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Beckett stared at the wall. She was reading the words. She was memorizing the dips and the curves of the letters. But she was like a college student trying desperately to cram information the night before finals. She could see the words, but no matter how many times she read them, her brain couldn't take them in. Couldn't, or just wouldn't. Or maybe both. Either way, as she stared at the wall, at the burnt crimson colour of the letters, she couldn't turn away.

"What the hell is that?" Beckett said, finally breaking the silence that had settled over them. She was talking more to herself than anything.

"That's a message," Castle said.

"Who sends a message like that?" Ryan asked.

She didn't know if she could stomach whatever quip Castle would have to answer that. She dragged her eyes away from the long, smudged tail of the _J _and turned to Ryan and Esposito. "We need CSU down this side of the alley, now. And I want uniforms canvassing anyone that lives within a two block radius. Get traffic cams and any disturbance complaints in the area from the past few days. Pull all the resources you can."

"Right away, boss," Esposito said.

"Thank you." She was on auto drive. This, at least, was familiar to her. She hadn't really had the chance to lead any field work of this nature since she was made captain two years ago – that wasn't what her job was about now - but it was like riding a bike. No one can forget something like leading a homicide investigation. At least, not someone like Kate Beckett. It stuck with her. Parts of it haunted her. Those parts, at least, she'd thought she'd put behind her. She'd thought all this was over. She'd thought it had all gone away.

But she had to ask herself: was it ever going to be over?

* * *

"Okay, so the canvas was a bust," Beckett said. "What about traffic cams?"

"No cameras point onto either end of the alley. We gathered all the footage from cams in the surrounding area. We've got uniforms going through them with a fine tooth comb, but so far nothing," Ryan told her.

"Is it possible for someone to have dumped the body without any camera seeing?" she asked.

"Difficult, but not impossible, if the killer knew where they were located."

"Given the pre-meditation that's clearly already gone into this, I'd say that's likely," she said. She ran her fingernails along her scalp, poofing her hair before letting it fall on either side of her face. She took in a deep breath.

"Okay. We all know this case inside out," she said. The voice in the back of her mind was telling her, '_you _know this case inside out, _you_ should be better than this.' She tried to push it away. "We need to look with clear eyes. Let's go right from the beginning. What do we know?"

"Twenty years ago, Montgomery, McCallister and Raglan were kidnapping mobsters for ransom," Castle said. Beckett uncapped the lid of her marker and wrote that at the top of the board.

"They accidently killed an undercover FBI agent," Esposito added, breaking off for a second to say, "What was his name?"

"Bob Armen," Ryan supplied.

"Thanks, bro. They killed Bob Armen and framed mobster Joe Pulgatti for it."

"Then Bracken, the assistant DA at the time, figured it out. He blackmailed the three cops and used the money to finance his campaign," Ryan said.

"But Pulgatti kept insisting he was innocent, and Johanna Beckett agreed to take up his case," Castle said.

"So Bracken hired Dick Coonan to kill her and her co-workers and Raglan covered it up," Beckett said. She wrote all the details given to her on the board and watched them begin to take hold and create the story she knew by heart. It was strange, in a way. Even several years after they'd last discussed the case, they all remembered the names, the details, the sequence of events. It was something that had touched all of them. It wasn't ever really going to leave them. And, as she looked to Castle when he started to supply the next piece of the story, she realised that it created a kind of bond between the team that wouldn't ever break. And Castle was included in that bond. She hadn't ever looked at it that way before, but she realised now that it was undeniably true.

"Several years later, we found Dick Coonan after he killed his brother, and Beckett had to shoot him," Castle said.

"Then a year later, Raglan contacted us with the intention of giving us information but was shot by a sniper," Beckett murmured as she scribbled it down.

"You discovered the connection to the Pulgatti case and put McCallister doing time for accessory to murder," Ryan said.

"And we," Esposito continued, "found the sniper, going by the name of Hal Lockwood. He was put in administrative detention."

"Until he was transferred to general population by a cop whose pay check was a little too bulky, but he was killed before we could talk to him." Ryan finished.

"Lockwood killed McCallister and then escaped during the trial," Castle said. "And soon after that we found out that Montgomery was the third cop and then..." he trailed off. "Well, then the whole hangar escapade."

Beckett looked back at him. For a moment, they caught each others' eye, remembering that long ago day when they stood pressed up against a car, their bodies as close as they'd ever been, muffling sobbing noises as gun shots rang in the distance.

"Then Bracken hired a sniper, Cole Maddox. He shot me during the funeral," Beckett deadpanned. She turned back to the board, breaking their momentary connection.

"While you were away that summer, I was contacted by a Mr Smith, who Montgomery had sent a package of papers that could change everything to. He told me the Dragon wouldn't hurt you as long as you stopped looking into your mother's case," Castle said.

"Then Maddox started poking around to find the files at the same time a guy that linked back to him, Costas, was killed," Beckett said.

"After we identified Maddox, you and I went to his apartment building to confront him," Esposito said.

Beckett's writing slowed. That day. The day she was left hanging off a roof, thinking she was about to die painfully and alone, with so many things left unsaid. The day, that in backing down, she found a place to stand, and the person who would stand with her.

The day that everything changed.

"Maddox got away," she summarised. "He identified Mr Smith and tortured him to find the location of the file."

"We also found where the file was," Castle said. "Maddox gets there first, but he sets off a bomb, destroying himself and the files."

"After an agonising night of piecing together debris," Ryan chipped in, "we determined that the files contained bank deposit money orders made out to cash. They were the ransom payouts Bracken took from the three cops. That was how we identified Bracken, and Beckett went to confront him."

"So, stale-mate. I have the file and he has hit men on his payroll. Neither of us can make a move without the other countering something just as bad," Beckett said.

"Until a year later," Castle said.

Beckett glanced back at him. "Yes," she said. "Until a year later."

Nobody jumped to fill in what happened next.

Beckett breathed in deeply through her nose. "Alright," she said. "Let's break from this and finish it up later. Espo, head down to the morgue and see what Perlmutter's got for us. Ryan, contact Bracken's wife. Get her to come down here."

The boys nodded. "What'll I do?" Castle asked.

She deliberated for a moment. "You could go home?" she chanced.

He raised an eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. "Fine. Go to the morgue with Esposito."

When the elevator doors closed behind Castle and Esposito, Ryan turned to Beckett with a serious expression.

"Beckett," he said. "You know that no matter who we arrest, the first thing any lawyer worth his salts is going to do is turn suspicion on you."

"Yeah," Beckett said. That thought had crossed her mind more than once. "I know."

"So, don't take this the wrong way," Ryan said, "But where were you last night?"

"I was home. All day," she said.

"Any proof of that?" Ryan asked.

"I used the phone a few times, but nothing after around seven. Will was working late. I was asleep by the time he got in," Beckett said. She knew how bad it was looking for her.

"That's soft, Beckett," Ryan said. "That's play-dough soft."

"Yeah," she said, running her hand through her hair. "I know."

* * *

**Today I'm starting a brief medicine course and I'll have very little time to write and even less time to access the internet. Realistically, the next chapter probably won't be up for 3-5 weeks. I'm really sorry! Also, I've put up this chapter in the minutes before I need to race out the door, so I apologise profusely for any glaring errors. As always, your support is appreciated!**

**- Lauren**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Dude," Esposito said. "How did you get her to let you back?"

"It was the lesser of two evils," Castle said. His shoes squeaked on the sterile floor as they ambled through the hallways to the morgue. The strong smell of antiseptic cleaning products used in the vicinity wasn't exactly pleasant, but it did bring old memories of early mornings and late nights to the surface.

"Man. I can't imagine what could have been worse than you coming back," Esposito said.

Castle gave him an insulted look, and Esposito backtracked. "Just that," he started, his voice quieter now. "Well, Beckett, I mean – she was pretty broken up after you left."

"She left," Castle said. "Not me."

"You stopped coming to the precinct though, right?" Esposito said. Well, yeah, he had. He'd never questioned whether or not he should come to the precinct the next day after the final argument. As far as he was concerned, they had broken up, even if it hadn't been expressly said. He couldn't have just turned up at the precinct like that, as if everything was okay. She wouldn't have wanted him to. Surely.

Esposito continued talking in the same breath, blissfully unaware of Castle's internal debate. "Either way, she took it hard. It was like I was looking at a woman from the past. She-" Esposito stopped up short. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this. You probably don't want to hear it."

"No, no, I do," Castle said quickly. "For the books, I mean."

Esposito continued, a little hesitant. "She cut her hair shorter, she didn't smile as much. Little things."

Castle was squeezed with the memory of what he was like after the break up. He had spent several weeks engaging in pure wallowing. The absence of the precinct had left him feeling a complete lack of purpose. He'd missed it. He'd missed groaning in the morning when his alarm went off and trying to navigate rush hour New York traffic. He'd missed gathering around the murder board and exercising his imagination with the wildest of speculations. He'd missed the sense of satisfaction and happiness that he got after a case was closed, knowing that he had helped to achieve some good in the world.

More than that, he'd missed _her._

He'd missed her warmth beside him in his bed, making the early mornings more bearable, and the feel of her hand brushing his when they both stretched out to smack off the alarm. He'd missed locking eyes with her and spinning theories together over steaming mugs of coffee. He'd missed coming home with her at night after a tough case, unwinding with a glass of wine on the sofa and falling asleep later to the lullaby of each others breathing, legs entwined beneath the covers.

He'd missed letting himself love her.

They turned then into the morgue, the doors groaning slightly as they were pushed open. A smile spread across Esposito's face when he saw Lanie standing over a body with her back to them, writing into a file. "Chica," he grinned, coming up behind her and giving her a quick kiss on the shoulder, his hand tracing the back of her neck. He laid his other hand gently on her stomach, rubbing it with light, circular motions.

"How are my two girls?" he murmured.

"Hungry," Lanie said. She pulled Esposito's hand, bringing him around to face her. "Javi, I saw the body. Is Beckett okay?" Her concern was clear in her voice.

"She's holding up," Esposito said. "And Bracken wasn't her only surprise today." He made a grand motion towards the door. Lanie turned, and her jaw fell slack.

"Castle?" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"Long story, wait for the bestseller. I didn't know you were pregnant, or I would have brought balloons," Castle babbled. "Congratulations!"

He put a grin on his face, showing his old friends that he was happy for them. But inside, his stomach was twinging. Could Beckett not have thought to at least _warn _him...

"Thank you," Lanie said, interrupting his discomfort. She smiled at him, but it was curt. Her eyes trailed up and down his body, examining him like he was a body on her autopsy table. She looked like she wouldn't mind too much if he was.

"Perlmutter went on a break about fifteen minutes ago," she told them. "He should be back soon."

"He's back now," Perlmutter said, swinging through the doors. He motioned with an index finger for Esposito to follow him over to the body, rolling his eyes when Castle jogged along too. Lanie joined them, Bracken's body clearly proving to be more interesting than her paperwork.

Castle tried to glance subtly at her stomach. How far along was she? Five, maybe six months? Castle wasn't about to claim he had extensive knowledge in the area, but he did have a certain red-headed ex wife that he'd waited on hand and foot for nine months, and he was willing to hedge his bets that Lanie was at least halfway through her pregnancy.

"Can I help you?" Lanie snapped, making Castle jump. Okay, so maybe his ninja skills needed finer tuning if he was that incapable of doing something subtly.

"If we're all quite ready," Perlmutter said. "I have information I believe you want."

"Shoot," Castle said, motioning for him to begin.

"No, stabbed," Perlmutter said. "Honestly, have you paid attention to anything today other than your detective?"

Castle opened his mouth to protest and shut it when he saw the grins that Lanie and Esposito were trying – and failing – to hide. It seemed that, for the time being at least, silence would be golden.

* * *

"Mrs Bracken, thank you for coming down."

Beckett looked out through the shutters of her office, watching as Ryan shook hands with the widow and lead her into the break room. She reached over to her desk to pick up the file case, her eyes lingering on her phone. Really, she should update the mayor, but she'd convinced herself she was holding back because the investigation hadn't fully taken off yet. And that was certainly part of the reason, but she was also waiting because she knew her chances of being permitted to continue supervising this case were slim. If she was in the Mayor's position – if she had a captain whose detectives were investigating the death of a man whose body was poised in the same way the captain's mother was almost twenty years ago - hell would freeze over before she'd allow jurisdiction to remain with them. And then, if a message was found written in the victim's blood, declaring wishes for said Captain's mother to 'live long'? That Captain would be put into an interrogation box faster than Castle could eat a can of whipped cream.

She pulled out the page she had on Bracken's wife. Sheila Bracken. Age 51. Born in Pittsburgh. She was squeaky clean with a complete lack of criminal record, not even so much as a speeding ticket. She'd been cleared of any suspicions of being an asset to murder, claiming blissful ignorance to her husband's private dealings.

Beckett tucked the file under her arm and headed over to the break room. She walked into the room quietly and hovered by the doorway for a moment, surveying the situation. Bracken's wife was seated in a low couch, her black hair twisted into a tight bun visible over the top. Closer to her scalp, hints of silver and grey crept up, like spilt ink slowly oozing across a page. Ryan was seated opposite her, hunched over a notebook as he scribbled quickly, trying to keep up with the woman as she gave her statement for her whereabouts the night before.

"And you only returned to New York today when we contacted you?" Ryan checked.

"Yes," she said, crossing her hands on her lap. "It cut my vacation short."

Ryan's eyes found Beckett's and they exchanged a look. She shut the door behind her then and came forward to shake hands with Mrs Bracken. The older woman stood. What she lacked in stature, she made up with steel posture. She gave Beckett a once over and spoke before Beckett could open her mouth to introduce herself.

"I know you," Mrs Bracken said, holding Beckett's hand in a vice grip. "You were the leading detective in the case against my husband."

Beckett plastered on a smile, resisting the impulse to cringe. That certainly wasn't the best of beginnings. "Yes, I was," she said. "I'm Captain Kate Beckett. I'll be assisting my detectives in the investigation of your husband's homicide. I'm very sorry for your loss."

For a split moment, Sheila Bracken's eyes glazed over. "Kate Beckett," she murmured. Beckett twitched, her hand still locked with the other woman's in a handshake that was far, far too long than necessary. Mrs Bracken came back to reality, immediately dropping Beckett's hand. She wiped her palm on her coat, not even trying for subtly. "Of course," she said, the haughty edge returned to her voice.

"Have a seat," Beckett gestured, as she herself settled down beside Ryan. Mrs Bracken sat down gingerly, sweeping her blood red coat under her. It matched her lipstick, which was smudged on one of her incisors.

"Mrs Bracken, I know this is difficult, but can you think of anyone that would want to hurt your husband?" Beckett asked. When she'd asked Bracken himself the same question five years before when she was assigned to protect him, she felt empowered, on a high from the irony of the situation. Now, asking his widow the same question, she felt foolish.

"Perhaps if you asked me five years ago, I would have had an extensive list to provide you with," Mrs Bracken said. "However, since his departure from the political track, William's old enemies faded away, and he had little opportunity to forge new ones. Obviously," she tacked on.

"About that," Ryan said. "Your husband was under house arrest?"

"Yes," she said.

"Only, we didn't find his ankle tracker on his person," Ryan said.

"I don't know anything about that," Mrs Bracken said. "I told you, I've been away for the past week."

"Was your husband alone in the house often?" Beckett asked.

"Well, I was hardly going to stay chained to him now, was I?" Mrs Bracken retorted.

"With all due respect, ma'am, there's no record of you ever trying to file for divorce after your husband was tried. Could I ask you why that is?"

Mrs Bracken's steely eyes flickered to the blinds, and then back to make contact with Beckett's. "Because if there's anything I've learned, it's that a piece of paper is never enough," she said, her voice softening ever so slightly for a moment before regaining its haughty tone. "I loved my husband, and the vows say for better or worse for a reason."

Her eyes glanced back at the blinds before the door was opened by a middle aged man with a grey suit and receding hairline. "I'm Mrs Bracken's lawyer," he announced.

Beckett stood up to shake his head. "I'm Kate Beckett. I'm the captain of this precinct."

"Brent Adams. Nice meeting you," he said. He spoke as though he was biting down on a lemon. "The next time you have questions for my client, you can speak to me, first. We're leaving, Sheila."

Mrs Bracken was already picking up her bag. "With all due respect, Mr Adams," Beckett said. "My detectives are on a busy schedule, and if contacting your client directly is the most time efficient method of pursuing this investigation, that is exactly what they will do. You're welcome to accompany her to any future interviews, of course."

"My client is in mourning," Mr Adams shot back. "If you harass her, I will sue your department for all it's worth."

"Noted," Beckett said.

Mr Adams nodded and ushered Mrs Bracken out of the room and in the direction of the elevators.

"That was pleasant," Ryan said, once they were out of earshot.

"Oh, yeah," Beckett replied, tucking her few notes into a file and handing it to him.

"What do you want me to do now?" Ryan asked.

"Make sure her alibi checks out and then get in contact with whoever was monitoring Bracken's tracker. I want to know where it is and why there was no alarm sent when Bracken left his house. Or why it wasn't reported if there was."

"You think someone's dirty?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Beckett sighed.

Ryan nodded. "On it," he said.

As Ryan made his way to the elevator, the doors pinged and slid open. Castle and Esposito emerged, with Esposito waving a file in the air. "Yo, Beckett!" he called. "You wanna see Perlmutter's report?"

As Beckett approached the boys, she noticed a fresh gash on the back of Castle's hand. "What happened?" she asked, taking his hand in hers to look at it.

"I, uh, I tripped Perlmutter while he was holding a scalpel," Castle said sheepishly.

"Too bad you missed it," Esposito joked. "It almost got his face."

Beckett smirked. "You were lucky," she said softly. "It could have gone a lot deeper." She ran a finger along the skin beside the gash. She could feel the tendons in his hand, could feel how soft – oh. She suddenly became aware of how close they were standing, how she was practically stroking his hand. She dropped it quickly and took a step back.

"Show me what you've got, Espo," she said.

Esposito started recounting what Perlmutter had told them. Even as she paid close attention to what he was saying, her hand was tingling with the memory of Castle's skin against hers. She tried crossing her arms, and then shoving her hand in her pocket, but she could still _feel _him. That was the problem with Castle. He was like a stain that wouldn't wash out, a wound that healed but left a permanent scar.

Would the scar he left on her ever fade?

* * *

**I know this update has taken forever, and I'm genuinely very, very sorry. Thank you all for staying patient with me! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. One day left until the premiere!**


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